


Envy for Solid Ground

by theglitterati



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (this is literally Iwaizumi Hajime is a Good Boyfriend: the novel), Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Iwaizumi Hajime is a Good Boyfriend, M/M, Recovery, Sexual Content, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: There’s a sign taped to the door: "Sitting Volleyball sign ups - today!"“No,” Tooru says. “No, Hajime, I can’t.”“Just one practice,” Hajime replies. “Please. For me.”-Oikawa loses a leg. But he gains some things, too.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 96
Kudos: 478
Collections: comfort ships





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Into The Ocean" by Blue October.

When Hajime sees the ad in the paper, it feels like nothing short of a miracle.

He almost tells him right then, calling “Hey, Tooru!” into the living room from his perch at the kitchen table. But he stops himself, just in time. There’s no way Tooru will agree to this, not in the state he’s in now. Hajime will have to find a way to bring him around slowly.

When Tooru wheels himself in, says “what?” in a monotone, Hajime just grabs a mug and asks him if he wants coffee. Tooru shrugs.

Hajime makes a cup for each of them, and Tooru takes his with a polite “thanks,” even takes a sip. But there’s no spark, no teasing “it’s too hot, Iwa-chan!” No desire. 

Tooru hasn’t wanted anything in a very long time.

*

Flash back to six months ago. Hajime opened yet another spam email from a jewelry store, offering  _ 90% off, all items must go! _ Oikawa had gotten cleverer about dropping hints, that was for sure, after several weeks of leaving wedding magazines around the apartment and taping up his ring finger after practice.

Still, this was low. Did he really think Hajime was this cheap? The ring he’d actually bought was a hell of a lot nicer, and he didn’t get a discount at all. Didn’t want one.

He was getting tired of waiting, carrying the box around in his pocket all the time. He’d been trying to think of a romantic way to do it, but he was crap at that stuff, and Oikawa knew it. With a sigh, Hajime shut his laptop and went to the bathroom, where Oikawa was in the middle of brushing his teeth.

Hajime pulled the ring box from his pocket and popped it open. “You better say yes. And stop signing me up for mailing lists.”

Oikawa froze, his toothbrush still in his mouth. For a second, maybe for the first time in his life, he was speechless. Then he pulled the toothbrush out, feigning annoyance.

“The answer is yes, Iwa-chan, but your vows had better be more articulate than that!”

It would have been a lot more convincing if not for the tears running down his face.

*

Two months after that, they were walking through downtown Sendai, Oikawa having dragged Hajime to some stupid pop-up shop selling pastel-coloured drinks that tasted like unicorn barf. Hajime tossed his in the garbage the second Oikawa stopped taking selfies of the two of them, making sure to get their rings — Oikawa had gotten Hajime one, too, after the proposal — in the frame.

“Hey, I paid for that!” Oikawa whined. They stopped at the corner, waited for the light to change.

“It was nasty.”

“What if I wanted yours after I finished mine?”

“You aren’t even drinking yours. Just admit you only bought it for the pictures!”

“Pfft, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, stepping off the curb as the light changed. “Don’t be mean!”

He didn’t even see the truck coming, going far too fast to stop at the light. Hajime lunged forward, tried to grab him, but it was too late. Oikawa turned, caught in the headlights.

All Hajime remembered after that were Oikawa’s screams, and that rainbow drink all over the pavement.

*

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No,” Hajime says. He’s never not thinking about it, how he almost lost Tooru that day.

“Liar.”

“Actually, I was thinking” — Hajime adjusts the paper, hiding the ad — “that you need a haircut. We both do.”

Tooru just stares, unblinking.

“I thought we could go get them tomorrow,” Hajime continues. “In the afternoon. I’ll make the appointment.”

It’s funny, the man in front of him looks like the old Tooru, but he never sounds like him. He doesn’t make a quip about how his hair is already flawless, or say that no matter how he styles it, Hajime’s hair always looks like a dragon fruit. “I don’t care what my hair looks like,” he says instead.

“You don’t even care what mine looks like?” Hajime pushes.

Tooru sighs. “It’s fine how it is.”

Hajime crosses his arms. “Tooru.”

“Hajime,” he answers, bitingly. Tooru always calls him by his first name now, and Hajime fucking hates it.

“Please. Tomorrow. It won’t take long.”

“I guess.”

Hajime smiles. “Thank you. It’s going to be good for both of us, to get out of the house for a bit, right?”

Tooru shrugs. He takes his coffee and wheels himself back into the living room.

*

Tooru’s immediately suspicious. Hajime turns the car down a street they don’t usually take, and his eyes narrow. “The hairdresser’s the other way.”

Hajime looks away, knowing Tooru can read him too well. “I picked a different one this time.”

Luckily, the rec centre’s in a shopping district, so it’s not totally obvious that he lied until they’re already out of the car, Hajime helping Tooru into his wheelchair. He takes the handles and pushes him, ready for the moment Tooru’s suspicions are confirmed.

They’re ten feet from the rec centre doors when he says, “This isn’t a hairdresser, Hajime.”

“No, it’s not.”

“So you lied.”

Hajime swallows. “Yep.”

He keeps pushing, almost there now. If Tooru asks to leave, he’ll turn around right away, but he goes quiet, arms crossed, waiting to see what’s in store. Hajime finds the gym easily, the double doors flung open and the familiar sound of volleyballs hitting the floor leading the way.

He wants to watch Tooru’s face when he sees it, but he’s behind him, so he just takes it in. There are about fifteen people in the gym, some standing, some in wheelchairs, some already seated on the hardwood floor. Some have both legs; many, like Tooru, have one. Only one person, a teenage girl tapping away on her phone, is missing both. 

There’s a sign taped to the door:  _ Sitting Volleyball sign ups - today! _

“No,” Tooru says. “No, Hajime, I can’t.”

“Just one practice,” Hajime replies. “Please. For me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at kyrstin.tumblr.com.
> 
> Also: I'm not disabled, so if anything feels off about this fic, please let me know! I did a ton of research, both about amputations and sitting volleyball, and I strove to write each character, disabled or not, with dignity and respect. If anything is offensive, or doesn't meet that standard, please let me know so I can fix it.


	2. Chapter 2

“I cannot  _ believe _ you brought me here!”

They’ve moved away from the door, Hajime not wanting to make a scene.

“And not only that, you lied about it!”

“I am sorry for lying,” Hajime says, calmer than he feels. “I just knew if I told you, you’d never come, and I really want you to give it a chance.”

“Why?” Tooru asks. “Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you, and you’re not happy.” Hajime drags a hand over his head. “I thought this could make things a little better.”

“It’s going to make them worse!” Tooru snaps.

“Tooru,” Hajime said. “Can things really get—”

“Hey there!”

It’s one of the people from the gym, probably the guy who wrote the ad. He looks to be about thirty, has one prosthetic leg and a ferocious smile. He’s also shockingly tall, towering over Hajime, who’s not that short himself.

“Getting cold feet? Or should I say, cold foot?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tooru says, “but we were just leaving.”

“Why don’t you stick around instead? You don’t have to play; just watch. You volleyball fans?”

“Yes,” Hajime says quickly, “and we both play, too. I’m a wing spiker; he’s a setter.”

“Very cool. You’ll definitely wanna see this, then. Come on, there’s some water and Gatorade inside, too.” 

Hajime looks at Tooru. “Please?”

“Fine.”

“Name’s Nishimura Jinpachi,” the man says, as they follow him into the gym. “It’s a bit of a mouthful. You can call me Jin.”

“This is Oikawa Tooru,” Hajime says, when Tooru makes no move to introduce himself, “and I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Oikawa?” There’s a flash in his eyes that might be recognition, but it passes so fast that Hajime isn’t sure if it was ever there. “Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Tooru says quietly. Hajime’s happy to see he’s remembered his manners.

“Okay, everyone,” Jin booms. “Gather round.” He leads the group to the bleachers. Hajime sits, letting Tooru park next to him.

“So, welcome!” Jin’s smile is almost blinding. “This is a better turn-out than I was expecting.

“I guess I’ll just start by telling you why I placed the ad. I just moved here a few months ago from Niigata, for work. I was on a sitting team there for five years, and I had some of the best times in my life playing this sport. I don’t miss my old city — not with the huge raise they gave me! — but I do miss my team, and when I found out there were no teams to join here in Sendai, I figured I’d start one.

“So, that’s it for me. Who here has played sitting volleyball before?”

Only one hand goes up, a wrinkled one belonging to a man of about sixty.

“And who has played standing volleyball?”

A few more hands, including Tooru’s. Hajime raises his in solidarity.

“Great. You’ll basically know all the rules, then, since the two sports are really similar. And last, who’s never played at all?”

More hands go up than the first two groups combined.

“Okay, so some of you will have a lot to learn!” Jin’s enthusiasm is apparently endless. “This should be a really good mix, then.

“I’ve got a sign up sheet here, where you can write down your name and email. Practices will be here on Tuesdays and Fridays, in the evening so you won’t miss work or school or whatever.” He pauses, looking around purposefully. “I know it might seem strange, or difficult, at first, especially if you’re used to standing volleyball. But it’s a hell of a sport, and I hope you’ll all give it a try with me.

“That’s it! Here’s the sheet. After you all fill it out, we can try a few things, get a feel for the court.” The old guy is the first to grab the sheet, signing quickly and passing it to the teenage girl.

“So…” Hajime says. Tooru’s fingers are clenched on the armrests of his chair, so he’s not expecting much.

“Do you have a pen?” 

“Oh! Oh, yeah, I do, one sec—”

Tooru grabs Hajime’s wrist. “No promises, okay?” he says sharply.

Hajime nods. “Okay.”

*

“Iwa— Iwa, I can’t move!”

“Stop, don’t try to, you’re pinned.”

Oikawa’s breath came in pants. “I can’t— my leg—”

“Don’t move!”

Hajime dug through his pockets for his phone. He felt like he might be sick.

A woman tapped him on the shoulder. “I called an ambulance. They’re already on the way.”

“Thank you,” Hajime said. “Oh, no, no, no!” Oikawa’s eyes were closing. “No, stay awake!”

*

“He’s still in surgery,” the doctor said. “He’s doing better, but we’re not in the clear yet. His left leg is badly damaged below the knee.” Hajime’s mother rubbed his back as he tried not to cry.

“You have two options,” the doctor continued, addressing Oikawa’s parents. “One, we try to save the leg. It can probably be done, but it will mean months of surgeries, reconstruction, therapy. There’s risks of complications, serious ones, like infection, or loss of feeling.” He paused. “And since I know you’re going to ask: even if we do it, he’ll never play professional volleyball.” Hajime hadn’t even thought of asking that.

“Option two,” the doctor said, “is amputation. His knee is intact, so it would just be from the top of his shin down.”

“Can we wait until he wakes up so he can decide?” Oikawa’s mother asked.

“With how much blood he’s lost,” the doctor said, “no, we can’t.”

The doctor waited for the answer to the unspoken question. To Hajime’s surprise, both of Oikawa’s parents turned to him.

“No, please,” Hajime sputtered, the tears he’d been holding back finally falling. “Please don’t make me choose, I can’t—”

“You don’t have to,” Oikawa’s mother said softly. “We just want your opinion.”

Hajime sobbed. “Please,” he said again, to no one in particular. “I just want him to live.” His mother pulled him into her chest, stroking his hair.

“Amputation is the safer route?” Oikawa’s father asked.

“It is,” the doctor said. “I know it seems dramatic, but he’ll have a much better chance of a strong recovery if that’s what you choose.”

“Then do it.”

*

“You’re thinking about it again.”

“Sorry,” Hajime says, easing the car carefully through an intersection.

“It’s not going to fix me, you know. Making me play. It’s not suddenly going to be like it used to.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, and I’m not trying to make things go back to the way they were. I’m just trying to make you happy.”

Tooru scowls. “Well, it’s not going to work.”

_ Probably not, _ Hajime thinks.  _ But it could. _


	3. Chapter 3

Hajime leaves Tooru at home when he goes to work. He hates leaving him alone these days. Best case, Hajime will come home to find him scrolling through Twitter, having forgotten to eat dinner. Worst case: he’s watching tape of his old university team, the lights still off even though the sun has gone down. But Hajime has a job to do, so he goes.

*

Tooru came home from the hospital three weeks after the accident, six kilos lighter than when he went in. He seemed… okay, all things considered. Better rested than Hajime, who’d spent those three weeks sleeping in a wooden chair beside his hospital bed. But whatever small reprise the car ride home gave them, it ended when they arrived at their apartment building.

The old one, where they’d live before their current apartment. A student flat at the top of a five floor walk-up.

It was Hajime who had complained when they signed the lease, even though the pain-in-the-ass stairs made the place a steal. Tooru had been excited. 

“Think how nice my legs are gonna look,” he yelled as he sprinted up them the first time. “Think how great my ass will be!”

Now, Hajime stood, and Tooru sat, at the bottom, wondering how the hell they were going to get up there. Tooru had crutches, but he was exhausted after one flight, having been bedridden for three weeks. The wheelchair, light as it was, was no help. Hajime ended up carrying his (missing weight or not, still pretty heavy) fiancé up the remaining four flights, then going back down for the chair. By the time he got back, Tooru had made it to the couch, and was sitting there crying. “I think we have to move,” he said, as though it wasn’t obvious.

They found a bigger place, in a building outfitted specifically for people with disabilities. It had bars to hold in the shower, wide doorways, and, most importantly, an elevator.

It was also expensive as fuck.

It wasn’t just the apartment. The medical bills were manageable, thanks to universal healthcare, but there was physical therapy, a psychologist… it piled up quick, even with Tooru’s parents helping. To top it all off, Tooru lost his scholarship, since he could no longer play volleyball, and that was what they paid him for.

The decision was easy, in the end. Since Tooru would have a hard time finding work right now, Hajime would drop out of school and get a job, just long enough for them to get back on their feet, metaphorically. Tooru could finish school, his tuition paid by Hajime’s earnings, and Hajime would go back once Tooru could support them.

It was the rational choice, and beyond rationality, Hajime had been happy to do it. It was unfortunately ironic that if he’d continued majoring in sports science, he might have actually been more useful to Tooru, but it was worth it, anything was, if it let Tooru have as normal a life as possible. But when Hajime came home from submitting the paperwork, Tooru had locked himself in the bathroom and refused to talk to him all night. Hajime knew he felt guilty, and no matter how many times he told him that he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter, it never really seemed to sink in.

So Hajime worked. He got a job as a security guard at a fancy, European clothing store, his biceps doing most of the talking during the interview. It was a decent job. It paid well, his coworkers were nice, and he didn’t have to sit at a computer all day. When it still wasn’t quite enough to cover their expenses, he got a second one, biking delivery food around Sendai in the evenings. His legs had never looked better.

*

He comes home late from work that day to find Tooru passed out in front of the TV. It’s not tape from university this time. It’s from middle school, a skinny Tooru and Hajime paused mid-fist bump on the screen.

Hajime lifts Tooru up and carries him to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

The first practice is on a Tuesday. Hajime normally bikes that night, but the one, and only one, good thing about working for an app is that he can take time off whenever he needs it. He packs Tooru into the car and drives him to the gym instead.

The group is smaller this time; some people must have decided not to come back. The teen girl’s there again, on her phone, and the old guy, and Jin, standing with his hands on his hips like a superhero.

“Tooru-kun, Hajime-kun! Welcome back!”

“Thanks,” Hajime says. “I’m, um, I’m not staying, just dropping Tooru off.”

“Nonsense! Why don’t you hang around and watch? You can keep Hamada-san company!” Hamada-san appears to be, from Jin’s introduction, the middle-aged woman sitting in the stands.

“Um, maybe.” Hajime waits until Jin goes to talk to someone else. “Would you hate it if I stayed?” he asks Tooru.

“It was your idea,” Tooru says. “You might as well.” Hajime leaves him to join the group and goes to sit with Hamada-san.

“Hi, I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Hamada Kaori,” she says. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Fiancé, actually.”

“Congratulations. He’s a looker.”

Hajime feels himself flush. “Um, are you—?”

“That’s my daughter, Misaki.” She points to the teenager, who has finally put her phone away. “She’s fifteen. She’s never played volleyball before.”

“Um,” Hajime says, “how did she, uh…?”

“She was born without legs,” Hamada-san says, waving off his hesitation. “But she never let that stop her from being a little shit disturber.” Hajime laughs. He definitely likes this woman. “What about your sweetheart?”

“Tooru. Uh, it was a car accident.” It’s nicer than saying he was hit by a truck.

“That’s a shame. Oh, look, they’re starting.”

Jin calls the group to order. There’s seven of them, including him, exactly enough for a team with one libero, which Hajime read online are allowed.

“So, I thought we’d start with some spiking drills,” he says easily. “Spiking’s not the easiest thing, but it’s the most fun, and it’ll help you get used to moving around the court. Players are required to have at least one buttock on the floor whenever they make contact with the ball, which can be challenging to learn.

“Tooru-kun?” Jin says suddenly.

“Yes?”

“You said you’re a setter, right?” Actually, Hajime was the one who said it, but Tooru nods anyway. “Do you mind tossing first? I want everyone on the team to be able to play any position, but this will be useful for us to get started. I’ll take over halfway so you can hit a few, too.”

“Um,” Tooru says. “Actually—”

“Great! Let’s line up!”

For a second, Hajime thinks Tooru’s going to call it right there and demand that Hajime take him home. But then it passes, and Tooru slips awkwardly from his chair to sit on the court.

“He’s played before?” Hamada-san asks Hajime

“Yeah,” he says. “He’s played.”

The drill gets off to a rough start. Hajime may be used to a different version of the sport, but he’s watched enough volleyball to know what’s good and what’s not. There’s one guy who misses his first spike completely, and another who sends the ball way off-course. A woman named Miyamoto, who looks to be only a little older than Tooru and Hajime, hits it so hard that it flies into the opposite wall of the gym. She was one of the people who raised her hand last week to say she’d played standing volleyball before. That makes sense. Her spike is probably exactly what Hajime’s would look like if he tried this.

Hamada Misaki is decent. She can get the ball in the court, though her hits are sloppy. Annoyingly, she kind of reminds Hajime of Hinata Shouyou from Karasuno, all raw talent with no training. Maybe that’ll turn out to be a good thing. Tooru always enjoyed riling him up.

Jin’s good too, though he’s a leftie, which brings back unpleasant memories of Ushiwaka. But by far the best player is Uchida, the guy in his sixties. 

“He lost his foot to diabetes,” Hamada-san informs Hajime. “He’s been playing for a long time. He’s a libero.” She pronounces it like lee-BEAR-oh.

And then there’s Tooru. Hajime’s been watching him closely, though he has his back to Hajime, and it’s irritating not being able to see his face. His first few sets are messy, though he’s still better than everyone except Uchida.

His tosses are too high, travel too far. He adjusts quickly, though, and they get better, easier to hit. Hajime can actually see, thrillingly, the minute his shoulders tense up, the way they always do in games. He’s actually  _ trying, _ and it almost makes Hajime start sobbing into his hands.

“Okay,” Jin says, “let’s switch so you can hit some, Oikawa!”

Both Hajime and Tooru flinch at the name. Tooru asked Hajme to stop calling him by his surname, and all the insulting variations Hajime loved, a few days after he got home from the hospital. Hajime didn’t need to ask why. It’s an athlete’s name, meant to be called across a court in the middle of a game. Hajime protested at first, said  _ Tooru  _ felt funny in his mouth, but Tooru made him say it and say it until it didn’t anymore.

Now, though, he feels like he never wants to say it again.

Tooru doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell Jin to keep calling him Tooru-kun. He just slides over to let Jin have his sport, and gets in line to hit

*

After, when Hajime asks if he liked it, all Tooru says is, “I’ll go again next time.”

“So you did like it.”

“I said I’d go again! Don’t pester me, okay?” He sounds so much like the old Tooru, bitchy and petulant. “You’re such a bully.”

Hajime smirks.  _ It’s working. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've never seen sitting v-ball before and are having trouble picturing it, now's probably a good time to watch a clip! Here's the ladies' gold medal game from London 2012: https://youtu.be/gGpAnbVrEiE?t=167


	5. Chapter 5

Tooru goes back to practice, again and again and again. Every practice, he gets a bit better, and not just at volleyball.

Hajime has a list in his head of all the changes he’s observed. Number one: he catches Tooru watching sitting volleyball videos on Youtube, hiding them in private browsers like porn. Number two: he calls his family for the first time in a month, though he cries when they put Takeru on the phone. And number three: he finally gets his haircut, dragging Hajime for one, too. He blows it dry when they get home, staring at himself in the mirror like Narcissus.

There’s another list, for the bad things. Tooru skips a physio appointment when he’s having a bad day, bickering with Hajime when he begs him to go. He’s still, to his doctor’s dismay, losing weight, which has more to do with his not eating enough than his injury. 

He never kisses Hajime anymore. He’ll let him do it, if Hajime kisses him first, but he only puts in the barest effort to kiss back.

*

Jin sets the team up practicing serves. Tooru adapts as easily as he did with his sets, though he can’t serve quite as hard as he’d probably like.

Jin then comes to join Hajime in the bleachers, where he’s sat at every single practice. He’s alone today, with Misaki at the dentist.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jin says. “You can tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to answer.”

That doesn’t really bode well, but Jin’s a nice guy, and Hajime doubts the question will be that bad. “Sure.”

“Did you and Tooru-kun go to high school together?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

 _Ah._ “Aoba Johsai,” Hajime says softly.

Jin nods. “I thought so. I remember him.”

“He was the star setter on our university’s team, too. Before.”

“How long ago was it?” Jin asks.

“Five months.”

“That’s not long. I know it’s probably felt like forever, but…” Jin trails off, eyes on the court.

“I was just like him after my accident. Skied right off a cliff when I was eighteen,” he clarifies, though Hajime could have lived without knowing that. “I was pissed off at the world, at myself. I was a nightmare to everyone around me — I’m not saying he is. Just talking. But, and I know this is gonna sound like a cliché, it does get better, Hajime-kun.”

Out on the court, Tooru is talking to one of the guys, the beginners, showing him how to toss the ball properly for an overhand serve.

“It already has,” Hajime says.

*

Jin is a lifesaver, and Uchida helps, too, his feistiness on the court sometimes enough to make Tooru smile, or even laugh. But it’s Misaki who does the most for him.

She’s blunt, for starters. Though her playing might be reminiscent of Hinata, her personality is way more like his tall, dark, and insolent partner. After their third practice, she watches Tooru climb back into his wheelchairs and asks, “why don’t you have a prosthetic?”

“What? I don’t know,” Tooru says, like he hasn’t been dodging the prosthetist’s calls. “Uchida doesn’t have one.”

“Uchida had one, but it hurt him.” Hajime has no idea how she knows that. “Some people can’t have them. But did you even bother trying?”

“I— no.”

“That’s dumb. You’re dumb.” She turns back to her phone, her neverending texting.

Tooru looks back at Hajime as if to say, _can you believe this kid?_ Hajime just shrugs.

“Who are you even texting so much?” Tooru demands.

“My boyfriend,” Misaki says. She looks up at Hajime. “He’s way better looking than yours.”

She leaves Tooru gawking as she stomps off to join her mother.

“She was so rude!” Tooru marvels on the way home, but Hajime can see him smiling in the passenger seat.

A week later, she corners him after practice. 

“My setting sucks,” she says.

Tooru considers her. “Yeah, it kind of does.”

“Can you show me how to get better?”

They stay late, Jin giving Hajime a knowing smile as he hands him the keys to lock up. Hajime takes them, then makes himself useful being Tooru and Misaki’s ball boy, running around the court while Misaki sets and Tooru hits. His corrections are firm, but gentle.

Tooru hits for real in the beginning, and Hajime’s shocked at how much better he’s gotten already. He gets in more good shots than he ever did in high school. But when Hajime starts looking too pleased about that, Tooru gives up playing seriously and starts aiming at Hajime instead. Hajime’s quick, but under Tooru’s tutelage, Misaki improves fast, and finally they’re able to use a quick attack to bean him in the shoulder. Hajime’s just glad it missed his head.

He bends down to pick up the ball, eyes locked on Tooru.

“Nice kill, Oikawa,” he says.

Tooru grins.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s a bit like living in a bubble. Two months into this new life of theirs, Hajime working, Tooru practising and starting up classes again, just a few online while he recovers, and it’s going… well. Tooru tells Hajime about class, Hajime tells him about work, and while there’s still no kissing, they get off together in the shower for the first time since the accident, Hajime holding Tooru against the wall with one hand, his other between their bodies.

It’s almost enough to make Hajime forget the worst parts of what happened, at least when he’s awake. They still come to him in dreams.

He’s never been a dreamer like Tooru, whose head is in the clouds whether he’s awake or asleep, always yakking about strange nightmares featuring demons, Shinzo Abe, and Kyoutani Kentarou in a dress. Hajime’s subconscious has never been that playful, or that willing to sugarcoat things for him.

His dream tonight brings him back three months, perfectly recreating the day in his head. He’d worked all day, then come home to find Tooru in their bedroom, a packed duffel bag in the middle of the neatly-made bed.

“You’re not leaving,” Hajime had said, a chill beginning in his stomach and spreading through his whole body.

“I’m not,” Tooru said. “You are. It’s your stuff.” It was Hajime’s duffel, on closer inspection.

“What the fuck is this?”

“I’m tired of being a burden on you.”

“When did I ever say—”

“You don’t have to!” Tooru yelled. “I fucking know! And you’re too nice to say it, and that’s why I’m making you leave.”

He managed to say it all without crying, even though he had always been the crybaby of the two of them. Hajime, on the other hand, started crying immediately. 

“Since when have I ever been fucking nice to you?!” he yelled, his voice breaking. “I’m here because I want to be, damnit!”

“Well, maybe I don’t want you here,” Tooru said, nose in the air.

“Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that when I know you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it because I have to! Because I’m not going to fucking pull you down with me, Iwa-cha—” The name caught in his mouth.

Hajime grabbed the bag violently and started unpacking, throwing things all over the room. “I’m not going to leave you. I live here, and I’m staying, and if you want me gone, you’re gonna have to drag me out of here.” 

He picked up Tooru’s ring from where it sat on the dresser. “And put your fucking ring back on, asshole.”

*

Hajime snaps awake, breathing heavily. Tooru’s beside him, phone in his face, not bothering to hide the volleyball videos anymore.

“What happened?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Bad dream?”

Hajime rolls over, clenching his teeth. “Yeah.”

*

Hajime can’t let that happen again, not when things have gotten so much better. He decides to poke their bubble, to test how strong it really is.

It’s been a long time since either of them have seen their friends. Tooru refused to see anyone, including his family, starting two weeks after coming home. Hajime met up with people from school a few times, mostly Tooru’s teammates who wanted to know how he was doing, but after dropping out, he gave it up. It’s time for both of them to get out of their shells.

He thinks for a long time about who to invite. Their university friends are nice, but that’s the problem: they’re too nice. They’d come over and bring food and dote on Tooru, and he’d feel awkward and uncomfortable, and nothing would be accomplished. 

Hajime needs people better suited for Tooru. Someone like himself, like he used to be before all the worry and the stress, who can push Tooru’s buttons, get a reaction out of him. For one crazy minute, he actually thinks about asking around for Kageyama’s number. Hajime could invite him over and let Tooru berate him until he felt like his old self again. He eventually decides against this plan, for the safety of everyone involved.

He settles on Makki and Mattsun, inviting them for takeout on Friday night. Now, he just needs to get Tooru to agree to see them.

This turns out to be easier than expected. Hajime stays late at work on Tuesday when one of his coworkers calls in sick, which leaves Tooru with no ride to or from practice. Luckily, Hamada-san, who’d been nice enough to give Hajime her number for emergencies, doesn’t mind picking him up.

What Hajime isn’t expecting is to come home and find Tooru and Misaki on the couch after practice, controllers in their hands, Super Smash Bros. on the TV.

“Your uniform’s ugly,” Misaki says, barely looking up from the game.

“Why are you in my house?”

“Tooru-kun invited me.”

“She invited herself,” Tooru corrects, though he doesn’t look mad about it. “Hey, not fair, I was talking!” Kirby goes flying off the map, Princess Peach looking pleased at his demise.

“Then shut up and pay attention!”

Hajime goes into the kitchen, feeling slightly stunned. He stops and watches the two of them over the counter as he waits for the water to boil for tea.

Misaki destroys Tooru yet again. “How are you doing that?!” he shrieks. “You’re just button-mashing!”

“I’m not button-mashing, I’m playing too fast for your incompetant eyes to see.”

“You’re so mean for such a tiny person,” Tooru snaps. But he’s smiling, actually, really smiling. Hajime sees his opportunity and takes it.

“Hey, Tooru.” Tooru turns to look at him. “Makki and Mattsun are going to come over for dinner Friday. If that’s okay.”

Tooru blinks. “Yeah, okay.”

“Cool.” Now Hajime’s the one smiling. “Can I play?”

“No,” Tooru and Misaki say in unison.

*

“Don’t say anything weird about his leg. But don’t be too nice to him, either. Just act like everything’s normal.”

“It would be a lot easier to act like everything’s normal if you were acting the least bit normal,” Makki muses. They’re downstairs, unloading food and beer from the car.

“Don’t worry, dude,” Mattsun says. “It’ll be fine.”

And, weirdly, it is, from Mattsun walking in the door yelling “YO OIKAWA, WHAT’S GOOD?!” to the three different puns Makki manages to make about Tooru’s leg, all of which Tooru laughs at. Hajime nearly drops his beer at the sound.

“So,” Matsukawa says, once they’re finished dinner, “Iwa-kun said you’re, like, gonna be in the paralympics or something.”

Hajime straightens. That was not what he said.

“Well, maybe not the next one, but you know me,” Tooru says. “It won’t take long.” But there’s a quiver of uncertainty underneath his teasing tone.

“Seriously, though, dude. It’s awesome that you’re playing again,” Mattsun says, and the tension clears, Tooru smiling.

“Hope there’s some hot guys on your team so you can find someone better looking than him,” Makki adds, pointing his thumb at Hajime.

“Excuse me.”

“I dunno, Hajime. Uchida-san might be old, but I bet he was very handsome in his younger—”

“Tooru!”

Their guests stay past eleven, talking about Makki and Mattsun’s college antics and Hajime’s jobs and stupid things they did in high school. They tiptoe carefully around (standing) volleyball all night — which is impressive considering how single-minded the four of them used to be — but Hajime thinks it’s okay. They’ll get there. Tonight is just the beginning.

“That was fun, right?” Hajime asks once they’re gone.

“Mhmm.” Tooru pauses, putting down the bottles he was cleaning up. “Hey, Hajime?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for inviting them. I… I wouldn’t have done it, if you hadn’t.”

Hajime wonders if that’s all Tooru’s thanking him for.

“Anytime.”


	7. Chapter 7

“I found us a team to play. There’s a group of guys over in Yamagata. So we’ve got our first game.” Jin’s smile is broad as he gives his team the news.

“What’s the catch?” Uchida asks.

“It’s in a week.”

What!?” Miyamoto yelps.

“Yep. I know it’s soon, but we’re never going to feel one hundred percent ready. We’ve just gotta take the opportunities that present themselves. We’ll practice as much as we can, and give it all we got.”

There’s a murmur of assent. Hajime finds himself nodding along in the stands.

“Second thing,” Jin continues. “If we’re gonna play a real game, we need to look like a real team.” He opens the cardboard box on the ground beside him. “I got these rushed so we would have them in time. I guessed your sizes, so I hope they all fit.” He holds a dark green jersey over his chest, the number one printed on it. “They look nice, huh?”

“Hell yeah,” Uchida says.

Jin passes them out. “I put the numbers you requested. Let’s all try them on real quick.”

Tooru gets his last, the others already pulling theirs over their heads. He puts it on, pulls it down over his torso. Hajime gasps.

In white lettering, bright against the forest green, is the number four.

*

The team gets in two extra practices that week, and they spend every second of them working. They run drill after drill, all the ones Hajime can think of and a few he’s never seen. At the last practice, though, the night before the game, they take a break from exerting themselves and sit down to talk strategy.

“Tooru-kun,” Jin says. “Go ahead.”

“What? Me?”

“You’re our setter. You’re the control tower of the team. And you’re the best strategist we’ve got.”

“Tell us all your secrets,” Miyamoto urges.

Still, he hesitates, until Misaki says, “Just fucking do it already,” and he does.

He talks them through every play, teaching them how to use their strengths and cover their weaknesses. He shows them how to read opponents, figure out what they’re going to do before they do it. And, unlike the, frankly, rude pep talks he used to give Hajime and the rest of Seijoh’s team, he’s encouraging, never insulting people or insinuating that anyone isn’t doing the best they’re capable of.

He may not be the captain, but he still sounds like one.

They stay late again, Tooru and Hajime and Misaki. She’s going to be the backup setter for when Tooru’s in the back row and can’t get to the front in time, so Tooru gives her some last-minute pointers.

People have a way of thinking that any good player will also make a good coach. Hajime knows just how wrong that is. He’d always laugh his ass off when people in high school or university suggested coaching as a future career for Tooru.  _ He couldn’t coach a fish to swim, _ he said, many times.

But when Misaki tosses a perfect set, high and arching, falling right in front of Tooru’s waiting hand, Hajime has to admit he was wrong. She’s miles ahead of where she was, and Tooru’s the one that made that happen. Tooru has surprised him, yet again.

“Hey, lurker,” Misaki calls after they’re been setting for an hour. “Your bf” — she actually says the letters — “is tired. Come hit some for me.”

“Really?”

She looks at him like he’s a piece of dirt on her shoe. “You play volleyball, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He gets up from the bench. “It’s not, like, offensive if I play?”

“God, he’s dumb,” she says to Tooru. “Why are you even dating him?”

Tooru shrugs. “He’s cute sometimes.”

Misaki gags. “No, it’s not offensive, stupid. Just come play.”

Hajime joins them on the court, taking Tooru’s spot. He has a feeling he’s about to make a fool of himself. He  _ really _ wishes he wasn’t wearing jeans.

“So I just hit like normal?”

“Yeah,” Misaki says. “Try that.”

She sets for him — a little low, but he adjusts easily, smacking the ball like he always does. It flies across the gym, hitting the bleachers.

“Out,” Tooru says.

“Well, duh.”

“Don’t hit so hard,” Tooru says, more helpfully. “Power doesn’t get you as far as you’re used to here.”

Hajime resents the implication that he’s all muscle, no technique. “Let’s go again.” This time, he controls the speed of his arm, tapping the ball rather than smacking it, more a feint than a real hit. It lands in the opposite court.

“Ehhhnnn!” Misaki yells, imitating a buzzer. “Penalty.”

“What? Why? I didn’t touch the net.”

“No, but your butt was off the ground. Also, literally anyone could have blocked that, it was so weak.”

“Damnit.” This is harder than he thought. He has a new respect for easily Tooru adapted. “Again.”

It takes seven more tries before Hajime hits anything close to a good spike. He keeps having to adjust, to ignore his instincts for the demands of the game. Finally, on his tenth hit, he lands a solid attack, bouncing the ball into the far corner of the court. It’d take one hell of a libero to dig that up. “Yes! Finally!” 

“That was… decent,” Misaki says graciously.

“Nah, it was great!” Tooru cheers from the other side of the net, where he’s been retrieving their balls. “Nice kill, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime freezes. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but stare, slack-jawed, at Tooru.

Tooru frowns at first, not understanding, then realization dawns on his face. His hand comes up to cover his mouth as he repeats  _ “Iwa-chan,”  _ like he’s just saying it for the first time.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Misaki says. “You guys are gross.”

Hajime allows that this is probably true.

*

“Iwa-chan, fuck,  _ kiss me!” _

“Tooru—” Hajime breaks off, breathing heavily. The gearshift digs into his hip. “God, let me get us inside first.” He jumps out of the car before Tooru can grab him again and retrieves his wheelchair from the back. Once Tooru’s in it, Hajime starts running, smacking the chair off the doorframe of their building.

“Careful!”

“Sorry.”

They manage to keep their hands off each other until the elevator door closes behind them. Then Hajime drops to his knees in front of Tooru to kiss him, yanking his jersey — his jersey with  _ Hajime’s fucking number on it _ — into his fist, pulling him closer and biting at his lips.

They rush into the apartment, then right into the bedroom. Hajime lifts Tooru up in one smooth motion and lays him on the bed, climbing on top of him. Tooru leans up on his elbows, pressing their mouths, their chests together, whispering, “I need you so bad, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime nods, agreeing. He’s never known need like this in his life.

He works on stripping them as fast as he can. He can’t afford to take his time, not after all these months. He gets everything off but the jersey, and for a second, he considers making Tooru leave it on, but he doesn’t want to make a mess of it. He pulls it off with the rest and runs his hands all over Tooru, mapping all the divots and lines of his body.

His hand drifts lower, down Tooru’s left leg. He goes slow, so Tooru can stop him at any time. But he doesn’t. When Hajime reaches its end, quicker than he used to, he stops and strokes gently. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Is it okay if I touch you here?”

Tooru purses his lips. “Yeah, you can, but…”

“But?”

He looks Hajime in the eyes. “But as much as I like your strange version of foreplay, Iwa-chan, I’d appreciate if you’d get to fucking me sooner rather than later.”

Hajime snorts. “Don’t be bossy.” He tries to sound serious, but the grin on his face gives him away.

It’s messy, and fast, and there’s one moment when Hajime tries to pull Tooru’s legs over his shoulder and slips off the end of the left one, but they both laugh, because what the fuck does it matter, when they’re having sex for the first time in months? Hajime brings Tooru off first as he chants  _ Hajime, Hajime _ — he’s never allowed Tooru to call him Iwa-chan in bed, but he finds himself absurdly missing it, maybe it’s time to change the rule— and then he’s coming, too, groaning as he presses deep into Tooru one last time.

They’re sweaty and panting as they come down. Hajime just manages to roll off Tooru before collapsing on the bed. Tooru’s lips are on his immediately, hands tangling into Hajime’s hair.

Tooru pulls back to look at him.  _ “Iwa-chan,” _ he says fondly. It’s dark in the room, but Hajime can hear the tears in his voice.

Hajime tries to smile, but it’s hard when his eyes are filling up, too. “I missed you, Shittykawa,” he whispers. Tooru laughs wetly at the nickname. “I missed you so fucking much.”

Hajime pulls him close, holding him tight as they cry like little kids.


	8. Chapter 8

They wake up tangled together the next day, hot and sticky in the summer heat. Neither of them remembered to set an alarm, but it’s okay — Hajime has the day off, and the game isn’t until the afternoon.

“I’m going to make you proud today,” Tooru says, his eyes still closed.

“I’m always proud of you, dummy.”

“How sweet. You know what would help me make you proud?”

“Is it me making you breakfast?”

Tooru’s eyes snap open, his mouth curved up in a playful smile. “How perceptive of you, Iwa-chan. That’s exactly it.”

Hajime aims a kick at his good leg under the covers, then rolls out of bed.

*

The game is held in their usual gym, but it’s completely transformed when Hajime walks in that afternoon. There’s a team banner, a crowd of people in the bleachers, and a ref who looks suspiciously like he might be Jin’s brother. The other team is already on the court, warming up.

Tooru’s with his team, so Hajime joins the Oikawa family in the bleachers. They’re all there, his parents and sister and Takeru, who’s waving a homemade sign with Tooru’s name on it in glitter. Hajime’s parents are there, too, sitting with the Oikawas. Further up, Hajime spots Makki and Mattsun throwing up peace signs.

“Hajime-kun?” someone says, as he’s about to sit down.

“Oh, hi, Hamada-san.”

She gestures at the people behind her. “This is my husband, Akira, and Hitomu, Misaki’s boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Hajime says.  _ Shit, _ he thinks.  _ He really is better looking than me. _

“I won’t keep you from your family,” she says. “I just wanted them to meet you. You and Tooru have been such good friends to Misaki.”

“Thanks. She’s been really good for Tooru as well.” Also a pain in Hajime’s ass, though he does not say that. “I hope you enjoy the game.” He leaves the Hamadas and takes a seat next to his mother. The loudspeaker sputters to life then, and the announcer asks for quiet.

The teams line up. Some members are in wheelchairs, some on prosthetics. A couple use crutches or canes, all of which are collected by assistants as the teams take their spots on the court. The whistle blows a few minutes later, signalling the start of the game.

Tooru moves to the back right corner of the court. He’s serving first.

As soon as he tosses the ball, a familiar  _ ohhhh! _ builds into a roar in the stands. Hajime doesn’t need to look back to know it’s Makki and Mattsun. Tooru hits the ball, powerful as ever, and it lands just in front of the other team’s libero, flying too fast for him to save.

The crowd erupts into applause as the ref calls a point for Tooru’s team, a service ace no less. Tooru’s mother is laughing out loud, Takeru yelling, “Beat their butts, Tooru!” so loudly he gets in trouble.

For most of the game, it does look like they’re gonna beat their butts. Everyone on Tooru’s team has improved massively since their first practice. Jin and Uchida are solid as ever; Misaki’s sets, when Tooru can’t get to the ball, are elegant; and Miyamoto has refined her raw power with strong technique, her quick attacks slamming into the floor.

It’s just not enough, even with Tooru’s perfect serves and tosses. They win the first set, but the other team takes the second and carries that momentum into the third. They lose, 21-25.

You wouldn’t know they lost, though, from Tooru’s enthusiasm. Hajime’s frankly a little irritated that his new team doesn’t have to deal with Oikawa’s usual post-game whininess. He’s all smiles, congratulating everyone and telling them how well they played.

“Where was this feel-good attitude when he was our captain?” Mattsun wonders aloud, he and Makki having joined Hajime with his family.

“No idea.”

They go out to dinner after, the whole team and their guests. The four Seijoh boys sit together, talking about nothing but volleyball this time, Mattsun and Makki getting louder with every beer they drink.

When Hajime leaves them to go to the washroom, he runs into Jin in the corridor. “Hey, Hajime-kun.”

“Jin. You guys played great today. Your serve is insane.”

“Thanks. Much as I’d love to brag about myself, Tooru’s is better, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” Hajime says with a laugh. He’s suddenly overcome with a rush of emotion for Tooru’s new captain. He bends into a deep bow. “Thank you so much for everything you did for him. If it wasn’t for you—”

“If it wasn’t for me,” Jin says, placing a comforting hand on Hajime’s shoulder, “he’d have been okay anyway, because he has you.”

And then the two of them are hugging, celebrating their own personal victory.

*

Hajime lets Tooru shower first when they get home, then takes one himself. He worked up a sweat cheering on the team. When he comes out, towelling off his hair, Tooru’s no longer watching tape in the living room where Hajime left him.

“Oikawa?” he calls.

Hajime finds him in the bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his wheelchair pushed aside. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve got one crappy knee and one missing leg, so don’t fault me for not getting down on one knee, okay?”

Hajime frowns down at him. “Why do you need to be on one knee?”

Tooru rolls his eyes, as though Hajime has said something stupid. “Just come down here. You’re too tall.” Hajime sits, crossing his legs so their knees are touching.

“I’ve prepared a speech,” Tooru says dramatically, “so please, don’t interrupt.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“First of all,” Tooru says, “I owe you an apology, Iwa-chan. Several thousand of them, actually. I’ve been… I’ve been a huge shithead these last few months.”

“Wow, harsh words.”

“I said don’t interrupt!”

“Sorry.”

Tooru continues, brushing off the interruption. “I thought if I just ignored what was happening, it would all just go away. The pain, the embarrassment… I thought maybe you’d realize that you were better off without me, and that you’d just go away, too.”

It takes everything in Hajime not to interrupt again.

“It was stupid, and selfish, and not fair to you. I should have known you’d be too stubborn to leave. I was being just as stubborn about not getting better.

“I know how much I’ve hurt you, and I feel sick thinking about it. I’m so sorry, Iwa-chan. You didn’t deserve any of this.” He starts to cry.

“Neither did you. Come here.” Hajime tugs him into a hug. “I never, ever wanted you to feel like this. I just wanted to make you feel better.”

“You did, though,” Tooru says, pulling back. “Seriously. You took me to that first practice, and it changed everything, Iwa-chan. I feel like… I feel myself again. I want to flirt with you, and see our friends, and go out and get dumb, trendy food and take selfies with it.”

“I should have seen that coming,” Hajime says.

“You should have, because you know me, Iwa-chan. But that’s not all I want to do. You’ll be happy to know I made an appointment later this week. At the prosthetist.”

“You— really?”

“Really. I don’t want to stay in my chair forever, if I don’t have to. I want to walk, and maybe run, again. I want to play volleyball standing up, if I can.”

“But your team—”

“I’m not ditching my team, Iwa-chan! Do you think so poorly of me? We almost won today, and next time, we’re definitely going to. I’m not giving that up.

“I like sitting volleyball. It’s a new challenge, and the people are really nice. But… I also want to toss for you again. I was so jealous, the other night, watching Misaki set for you. I want to be your partner again.”

Hajime feels his own tears start to fall, matching Tooru’s. “I’d really, really like that. That would—”

“Shh, I’m not done! I haven’t talked this much in months, and I have a lot of things to say!” Tooru actually manages to look irritated despite the fact that he’s openly weeping. 

“I figured out my class schedule today. Since I won’t be playing on the university team, I’ll have more time than usual. If I take two extra classes, I can graduate on time next year, make up for what I missed.” He pauses to wipe his face, though it does nothing to clean him up. “And once I do, I’m going to get a job, and you’re going to finish school. As much as I like your discount on fancy clothes, it’s not worth your future, Hajime. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you graduate.”

“That’s—” Hajime sobs. He’s finding it hard to breath. “I love you so much,” is all he can get out.

“I love you, too. Which is why, um, I have one more thing to say.” He takes a shaky breath. “Your proposal, last time, was honestly kind of lame, Iwa-chan. I mean, I had my toothbrush in my mouth. So I thought we could do it again, and I’ll be the proposer this time so you don’t screw it up.” 

He pulls their rings from his pocket; he must have swiped Hajime’s while he was in the shower. His hand trembles as he takes Hajime’s. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he says, then breaks off with a gasp.  _ “Iwa-chan _ . Will you marry me? I promise to be a better fiancé this time around.”

Hajime nods, tears dripping off his chin. “You were already the best one,” he says. “The whole damn time.” He takes Tooru’s ring and slips it back onto his finger, then lets Tooru do the same for him. 

He realizes, as he slides the ring back into place, that it has already dented his finger a little, carved a groove into the flesh from wear. He finds that he likes it, this physical reminder of their love. He pulls Tooru into his arms, holding him like he never wants to let go.

Their bodies will change, in both expected and unexpected ways, leaving marks with every new experience. Their lives will be scrawled on their skin, and engraved into their bones. But so long as their hearts continue to belong to each other, Hajime knows they’re going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and commenting! This story is very near and dear to my heart, so I really appreciate it <3 and again, feel free to hit me up to talk about these two and all of hq!! at kyrstin.tumblr.com.


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